


baby, you gotta let go

by ephemeralstar



Series: i write sins and tragedies [1]
Category: Until Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: All F/M Ships Are Mention Only, Emily-centric, F/F, Heavy Angst, I Don't Even Know, I Just Really Like Angst And Femslash, Major Spoilers, Matt Deserves Better Than What I Give Him, Post Mortem Friends to Lovers Realisation, Post-Canon, Queerplatonic OT3, Queerplatonic Relationships, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Survivor Guilt, nobody is straight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-10
Updated: 2016-05-10
Packaged: 2018-06-07 04:37:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6785500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ephemeralstar/pseuds/ephemeralstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They don’t talk about what they <em><span>are</span></em><span>. Emily says it’s because Sam makes the best goddamn pancakes she’s ever tasted and she doesn’t want to jeopardize that with something as trivial as </span><em><span>labels</span></em><span>, but really, they don’t want to make it </span><em><span>weird</span></em><span>. This - </span><em><span>whatever ‘</span></em><span>this’ </span><em><span>is</span></em><span> - works for them, between slow dancing in the kitchen while cooking breakfast, stealing lazy kisses in the back of movie theatres, and sharing hopes, dreams and aspirations in the wee hours of the morning, they’re a goddamn love story, and Emily’s never been so unapologetic about anything in her life.</span> She relishes the feeling, and tries hard not to think about how it could grow teeth at any minute, catching on the memory almost a decade old, of stolen kisses and whispered secrets on moonlit nights, with a girl who's now a mere memory.</p>
            </blockquote>





	baby, you gotta let go

**Five Hours**

It’s only when she sees Matt again does Emily realise that the Mountain broke all of them. He’s nudged into the room with a faraway look in his eyes, all but tripping over his own feet as he stumbles in. There’s silence that stretches on for what seems like an eternity until the officer accompanying him announces, rather uncertainly, that the paramedics were on their way, and that Matt was the last to be found.

“What do you mean?” Mike’s voice has none of the hoarseness that Emily expected, it was authoritative, a contrast to the way he had hunched in on himself only moments before. Now, sitting bolt upright, he looks unflinchingly into the eyes of the officer. “You’re kidding, right?” There’s the barest waiver to his tone, but it’s enough and suddenly Emily felt herself turn cold with realisation. “ _Where’s Jessica_ ?” Matt flinched at the mere mention of her name, drawing Mike attention to him. When he repeated his question, there was no hesitation in his voice. “ _Where is Jessica_?”

Gaze dropping to her hands, Emily refused to let herself cry, not here, not now, not in a room with the boy who had left her to die, not in a room without her best friend.

“Hang on, Mike,” Sam, seemingly startled out of her silence, cuts into the conversation, voice soft and concerned. She seems fine, somehow, and for the barest moment, Emily hates her for it. “Back at the lodge, you seemed certain that she was… _you know_.” There’s a loud sob from the corner of the room and none of them have to turn to know it’s Ashley, curled in on herself on the uncomfortable plastic chairs, shaking and crying.

“Well she wasn’t hanging up in that fucking Wendigo trophy room,” Mike isn’t fixated on staring anyone down anymore, fidgeting hands betraying his own unspoken anxieties, “so I _assumed_ she…” He’s suddenly very pale and can’t finish his thought, jaw going slack as he slumps lower in his seat. His mind is reeling as all tension drains from his body. “ _No_.” It’s so quiet Emily doesn’t think he even meant to say it.

“Matt,” It’s Sam again, moving without thinking over to Ashley, her voice cold but not unkind, “what happened?” Emily can hear the way Matt’s voice caught in his throat before he speaks, and Emily thinks she would pity him if he didn’t leave her for dead. She’s not crying, she’s _not_ , but her hands are clenched into white-knuckled fists in her lap as she struggles to take in breath after shallow breath.

“Sh-sh-she, uh,” Matt was barely able to form a complete sentence, avoiding everyone’s gazes as he shrunk against the doorframe, “survived the elevator fall.” Mike visibly tensed, his jaw set in a firm line. Matt continued, “But her leg it- she was- it was, injured. She c-c-couldn’t run. I c-couldn’t just l-l-leave her there.” His voice was quiet, but even so, it echoed in the silence of the room.

“ _Get away from me!_ ” A sudden burst of noise derailed Matt’s explanation with Ashley’s distraught shouting catching all of their attention. Sam looked disappointed, but obliged with no complaints, putting distance between herself and Ashley, who only isolated herself further.

“Then- then- then a monster, some demon or some shit I had never seen before,” Matt paled as he found his train of thought once more, continuing, stronger than before, but still shaky, “it-” he cut off abruptly, eyes squeezed tightly shut as he forced himself to breathe deeply, “it followed us.” He half-whispered, “We tried- tried to run from the thing-”

“Wendigo.” Sam supplied, voice quiet and unobtrusive. Matt’s eyes snapped open and he fixed her with a strange look. “Those things are called Wendigos.” Silence stretched between them as Matt gathered his thoughts.

“Well,” clearing his throat, he kept his gaze upon Sam, refusing to look anywhere else, lest he lose his nerve entirely, “one caught her.” It felt as though Emily’s world came crashing down around her with the horrid realisation that not only had Jess _seen_ one of the creatures, but it had taken her life. Some twisted part of her regrets that it had to happen this way, that being killed by the elevator would at least mean she had someone to blame, even indirectly. She could live with hating Mike for the rest of her life; blaming the wendigo seemed too easy. Matt was rambling, trying and failing to comprehend all that had happened. “We shouldn’t have ran, we should have hid and-”

“So you regret not saving her, but you left me to _die_ ?” Fed up, Emily’s voice is full of venom. There’s tears in her eyes ( _she’s_ **not** _crying_ ), and her face is contorted into an expression of bitter cruelty.

“B-b-but you’re- you made it... You’re alive...” There’s something akin to disbelief in Matt’s eyes as he finally looks at her. There’s remorse in his expression, but not for her. Part of her is glad, but she can’t help but sneer.

“No thanks to you.” Voice little more than a snarl, she wipes her eyes angrily.

“Em-” His voice is soft and she doesn’t _need_ that from him. She doesn’t need pity from any of them.

“No, you know what? I’m glad you feel like shit, but Jess doesn’t deserve-” she faltered, inhaling sharply, “ _didn’t_ deserve to die.” Matt’s mouth is open, as if he wants to add something, but no sound comes out and Emily knows she can’t keep up the energy to be mad at him. She bends until her head is resting on her knees, hands locked behind her head to keep them from shaking. It doesn’t work. She’s trying as hard as she can to keep her breathing level, but she knows she’s crying, full on sobbing, she can hear herself and she decidedly _doesn’t_ care.

She jumps at the sudden touch of a hand on her back, but can’t even bring herself to tell them to fuck off. “Em?” It’s not Matt, _thank God_ , and the plastic chair beside her shifts, as does the hand, until it’s holding her shoulder and Sam’s pulling her into a hug.

“What do you want?” Emily’s voice is small, so weak she can barely believe it’s her own, but she can feel Sam trembling, despite the girl’s best efforts, and neither of them pull away. There’s something fucked up about how Emily finds comfort in the way Sam smells like rust and burnt hair, but it’s grounded and tangible, and it’s _Sam_ , so Emily hugs her back.

“I’m sorry.” Sam shouldn’t be the one apologising, she hasn’t done anything wrong. It’s been a long day, Emily can barely keep track of anything anymore, but she’s fairly certain the only apology she had received was from Mike, about his actions in the ‘ _safe room_ ’, and she still hadn’t forgiven him; that will take time. Sam’s apology feels unnecessary, almost alien.

“She was my _best friend_ .” Emily whimpered, and Sam’s expression is understanding, but rather vacant. “The last thing, _last thing_ ,” Emily hissed, voice catching on a sob, angry more at herself than anything else, “I told her was…” She buried her face in Sam’s shoulder, huffing out an angry sigh, trying to quell her relentless sobs.

There’s silence, no-one else can bring themselves to speak, only broken as the police officer reemerges to usher the paramedics in, and to inform them that they’re being put up in a nearby hotel. They have to be back for questioning the next day, but they’re finally allowed to call home. Emily refuses, and Sam stays by her side.

Ashley can barely stand, can barely accept Mike’s help, but she does, and the two of them stand side-by-side as Mike calls home. His mom picks up, Emily can tell by the light hearted way he refuses to go into details. Ashley takes the phone when it’s presented, but only for a moment, her hands shaking so badly she can’t even keep it in her grip. She lets it drop to the floor and can’t even bring herself to pick it back up, crumpling, instead, against the wall, forehead pressed to the plaster with her face in her hands.

She’s distraught, broken, and they all know why.

She loved Chris.

**Five Days**

“She’s always just, been there for me, you know?” The conversational tone so sharply juxtaposes Emily’s current state of mind that it makes her teeth hurt. It’s five in the morning and she found herself crammed into a double bed with both Sam and Ashley, not that she was complaining, wearing pyjamas the Washingtons had paid for, in a shitty motel the government had slotted them into. She envies Ashley, who's able to sleep after everything, even if it is fitful and distressed at the best of times. Emily finds herself staring at the slate grey ceiling, hand in hand with Sam, who gives her a supportive squeeze where words fail.

“I know, Em, I do.” Sam’s voice may help ground her, but Emily doesn’t think she _really_ understands. Jess is gone and it’s as though she’s forced herself to forget all the bad times, the arguments and the malicious gossip, to only think of the Summers they spent together, the horrors of high school but a faint memory. Nothing but a haze of a better time, moonlight and soft skin, the taste of bubblegum and laughter; no worries, no cares, no monsters to hide from. It was simple trust and comfort, something Emily had once known.

“I know what you’re thinking.” It felt good to break the silence, to break free of her own thoughts.

“Somehow I doubt that, but continue,” Sam mused, quiet and distant despite their closeness. Emily pretended she hadn’t heard, continuing with her thought.

“After all of last year, everything with Mike and… everything.” Steeling her expression, she refused to be weakened by a memory, refusing to acknowledge that she had already done so. Turning to look at Sam, her sudden resolve faltered; Sam’s expression was so painfully unguarded that it took Emily by surprise. She wasn’t used to people being unguarded around her. “I was devastated to lose her,” she admitted, and Sam smiled sadly, “of course I was mad at Mike, he acted like a fucking asshole, but I was… I don’t think I was ever really mad at Jess.” She’d never said it out loud, but suddenly it made sense, at least to her.

“Everyone thought you hated each other.” Sam told her, quietly, not that is was news. Emily may be a bitch, but at least she had the skills to back it up; if someone had an opinion about her, you can bet she already knew. Despite this, her smile was almost bashful.

“We’re bitches.” She paused, _visibly_ wincing. “ _Were_ bitches. It’s what we did.” The best laugh she could muster paled in comparison to her memory of Jessica’s, and even as she tried to stop it from slipping to a grimace of despair, she knew it wouldn’t work. “But she was still my best friend; I was so fucking glad she was still talking to me, I’d take anything I could get.” Emily snorted, using her free hand to wipe away the tears that had sprung to her eyes. “God, I must sound like such a wreck.”

“I just… can’t believe it.” Sam admits, turning to focus back upon the ceiling, upon nothing. Emily’s ready to defend herself, but Sam continues and her protests died in her throat. “Josh, I mean… he…” a shudder ran through Sam’s body and Ashley made a quiet, unhappy noise in her sleep. It’s Emily’s turn to be sympathetic, rubbing her thumb over the back of Sam’s hand, trying her damndest to shove all thoughts of Jess from her mind, lest she keep dwelling and spiral down from there.

“I know he… had problems, but he… the things he did to Ash and Chris-” A looks of guilt crossed Sam’s face as Ashley let out a pained whimper, wriggling onto her side, away from the others. Her hand still held Sam’s - who had diplomatically chosen to sleep in the middle - and the girl in question lowered her voice before she continued, “the things he put them through… _Who does that_?”

And finally, it happened; Sam broke. Like a supernova she imploded, expression crumpling, tears welling in her eyes. Emily didn’t want to watch, but couldn’t quite look away.

“I can’t believe him,” Sam’s a mix between despair and guilt, keeping her sobs to a quiet sniffle for Ashley’s benefit as all the pain and confusion Josh had caused her finally came to a head, “after everything we went through. I thought I could trust him… And now he’s - _Em, he’s gone_.” There’s something there, a twinge of perhaps guilt, or empathy, Emily has to stop herself from squirming with discomfort. “I’m sorry.” Sam’s voice was a low mumble and she turned, pressing her lips to Emily’s shoulder in a show of gratitude, “I just-”

“Don’t.” Words far sharper than she had anticipated, there’s the sinking feeling of disappointment as Sam pulls away looking hurt and confusion. Emily sighed, taking a moment before she explained herself. “Don’t _apologise_.” She elaborated, softer this time. “I understand.” Avoiding Sam’s pitying gaze, she looked up to the ceiling, schooling her face into something more neutral. “Try to sleep, OK? We can talk tomorrow.”

Emily considers that perhaps she’s a bad person, that only a monster would shut Sam down like that, so quick and cold; _clinical_ . Sam’s still crying. But then Sam’s moving to rest her head beside Emily’s and she’s whispering a watery thank you, and perhaps, _perhaps_ , things could be alright. Not tonight, of course, tonight everything is terrible and Emily’s mind is preoccupied with thoughts of Jessica and Sam’s crying. Sam’s _distraught_ , and Emily can’t blame her.

She loved Josh.

**Five Months**

“You need to give yourself time to grieve.” This is the fourth psychologists Emily’s visited since the night on Washington Mountain, and he’s predictably unhelpful, much like the other three. Her cool, unwaveringly judgemental glare clashes with his words and he clears his throat in the silence. Clipboard in hand, she knows he has a long list of topics, courtesy of the police report and her previous shrinks, that Emily would rather leave buried in the back of her mind.

“Tell me about _Jessica_.” The barest mention of her name in that sickly tone he used causes Emily to freeze, mind spinning, disconnecting from reality only to float along an ocean of memories. It’s a mix of the good and the bad, fixating on the smallest details; the way Jess smelled like apple shampoo, and her grin after Emily kissed her that first time, the disappointment Emily had pretended not to see when she announced she was dating Mike.

Emily doesn’t listen to the shrink, who prods for about five more minutes before sighing defeatedly and muttering something that sounds suspiciously like ‘ _lacks cooperation_ ’. It’s not like Emily even cares. Dismissed dejectedly, she scoops up her bag and gives the receptionist her health care details. It’s hard to pretend that her hands don’t shake when she closes the door. The street is bustling with activity, people on their lunch breaks paying her no attention, but she thinks she rather likes it that way. The mere thought of food makes her stomach lurch, but she heads to the closest cafe and order herself a hazelnut latte anyway.

_Are you free? Can we talk? - Em_

Of all people, she’s not certain why Mike’s the first one she contacts. There’s a minute of anxiousness, but his response is succinct and she’s grateful.

_yeah._

She let out a breath she didn’t realise she had been holding, texting him the address of the coffee shop. The wait isn’t too long, thankfully, and it’s rather surreal to see Mike in a suit when the image of him, poised with a shotgun and bruised as all hell was burnt into her memory. He looks tired, now, she thinks, and his tight smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

“You look…” It’s off to an awful start and she doesn’t know what to say, “good.” Her coffee remains untouched on the table between them, slowly growing colder. Mike eyes the coffee but lets it be. His hands shake, but it’s barely noticeable. He’s trying to look relaxed, she can tell, but he’s failing miserably, and they’re both acutely aware of it.

“I’m an intern for the mayor, now.” It’s the simplest explanation, it shows that he’s grown. Emily can respect that, can respect him, and she pushes down resentment and sews up old wounds before she can sabotage herself.

“Right.” Silence stretches between them and it’s Mike who breaks it with a deep sigh, sinking lower into the chair.

“Em, what did you want to talk about?” Voice cold, his gaze is shallow as he looks at her. She meets his gaze, tilting her chin defiantly and squaring her shoulders. She knows the looks that he gives her, it’s the one he gets when he’s restraining himself from rolling his eyes. There’s a flash of resentment and a moment of childish triumph when she thinks of how he’ll regret that exasperation.

“It’s about Jess.” And there it is, as though he had touched a live wire, every joint seemingly locked with tension. “We need to talk about her.” Emily continues even as his eyes glaze over; she can practically hear the cogs working to open Mike’s mouth against the tension that locked up the rest of his body.

“Can we not do this here?” Voice low and insistent, he pointedly avoids Emily’s gaze. There’s a beat and he finally gives in, taking her lukewarm coffee off the table and gulping it down in seconds, if only to give himself something to do.

“No, Mike, we’re going to talk here.” Her voice radiated confidence that she hadn’t felt in months. It was as though they had turned back time to when she had wielded her bitchiness as a weapon, rather than a shield.

“Fucking _fine_ .” And suddenly it was as if nothing had changed, they were just Mike and Emily arguing about something meaningless in highschool, _not_ about the girl they had loved. Mike looked indignant, as if indignant that he _had_ to sit here, as if she had tricked him into this situation. “I miss her.” He admitted. “I miss her every day. I saw her fall down a fucking elevator shaft – I thought she died.” The way he detached himself from the night was fascinating, like he’d rehearsed it, it was almost sad to watch. “But apparently, she didn’t.” He clenched his jaw. “If I was- if I was faster... I could have _saved_ her.” He muttered, and Emily had to wonder about the difference between rehearsing and blaming yourself.

“Michael...” When he hears the unexpected softness in her voice, his face contorts.

“Is that what you wanted to hear?” With a gaze full of fire he levels his glare at Emily. She glares back, all the while silently congratulating herself on not flinching away. “Let me guess, some shrink asked you and you stormed out of there like you do whenever you don’t get your way.” He spat observations that hit too close to home, knowing her, knowing how to _hurt_ her.

“Mike, what the hell? Why are you attacking me like this?” Her voice a shriek, she gave a strained smile to worried patrons who cast their gazes over at them.

“I was with Josh when that fucking Wendigo took him, Em. I watched my girlfriend get tossed down an elevator shaft. _I_ was the one who comforted Ashley, who saw Chris’ head on the fucking ground.” She realised that he had never said it outloud before, it was there in the way his hands twitched with each name, each person that had left them that night. Emily could see it in his eyes, and he lowered his voice, looking at the empty coffee cup in his hands. “ _Excuse me_ ,” he snarled, _“_ if it’s not something I want to talk about.” He slammed the cup down and went to leave.

“How do you-“ Emily decided against grabbing his sleeve, but her hand was still outstretched as Mike paused to look back at her, scowling deeply. “How do you keep going?” Lowering her hand quickly, she ducked her gaze and began chipping away at the nail polish adorning her fingers.

Silence.

“I don’t know.” Suddenly everything made sense in the worst way possible. Mike had broken long before the others, had broken the moment Jess had been taken and would work himself to death before he dealt with it.

He leaves without buying anything and Emily finds herself in the coffee shop, alone if not for the empty coffee cup and overly friendly staff. Debating whether or not to go back and apologise to her psychologist, she ultimately decides against it. She may be fucked up, but she’s still Emily, and Emily is always right.

Mike’s words play over and over again in her head on her way back to her apartment, his voice reverberating through her skull, distorting until she can no longer distinguish his voice from her own, both telling her that she can’t keep going. He’s wrong, she thinks, she has to keep going; it’s her turn to cook dinner tonight, if nothing else.

Briefly, she considers contacting Matt, but dismisses the idea almost immediately. They’re friends on Facebook, but he’s got a new girlfriend and a new life, she wouldn’t ruin that, wouldn’t ruin his happiness. Matt’s better at dealing with this than she is, than Mike is, but maybe that’s because he hadn’t lost as much that night. She’d lost so much that night. Mike must feel as though he lost everything. He loved Jess.

**Five Years**

Emily and Sam’s apartment is a shoebox of a thing in the inner city, with barely room for their double bed, let alone their baggage. Emily’s parents floated them the deposit and a few months rent, pleased that Emily was no longer ‘ _moping about the house_ ’. Their sleep schedule is almost as fucked up as they are, but they find it easier to sleep with someone by their side, so they share a bed, and an apartment, and pretty much a life. Like vampires, Ashley once joked, with Emily taking a night course in communications and bartending on the side, while Sam works at an after-hours mental health hotline, trying to make a difference - she doesn’t talk about Josh anymore, but he’s there in the set of her jaw and the determination in her eyes. Emily admires her determination.

After a few months, Ashley begins to crash at their apartment. All they can offer is the fold-out sofa, but she doesn’t complain, even offers to make breakfast when there’s food in the fridge, and none of them are surprised when a few nights turns into a few months. By the time she starts paying rent, they decide to investigate into a new sofa, or perhaps a bigger bed.

“We could get a bigger apartment.” Sam’s the one who suggests it, one night when the three of them are crammed onto the double bed, sharing Chinese takeout while watching Netflix on Emily’s laptop.

“Up to you guys.” Ashley mused, stealing one of Emily’s dumplings and skipping the credits to the next episode.

“It would be more comfortable.” Emily agreed, swooping in on Sam’s last eggroll. Between the three of them, they have enough to rent a new apartment, and buy a decent bed, which is a small blessing in a cruel world. Sleep doesn’t come easily to any of them anymore, but it was nice to know that someone was there to help, to offer support, someone who understood.

Emily didn’t cry often, but that didn’t stop the way she would wake, screaming, begging, _pleading,_ ‘ _don’t take her away_ ’. Brilliant didn’t quite describe her, it was such a shallow adjective, and even though she hadn’t been there, she’d seen the Wendigo, knew what they were capable of, and her imagination was wild and dark. Each new night was a different horror to behold, a different way to watch Jessica be taken from her forever. The thought that stings is the cold speculation, cruel blame that she places on herself, that perhaps if she had just been _nicer_ , had dealt with her own feelings, made peace with herself - _with Jessica_ \- then they wouldn’t have felt compelled to leave. Perhaps it was all her fault.

“Em! Em! It’s OK! You’re safe!” It’s Sam’s voice in the darkness, alert, yet still heavy with sleep. They reach out in the darkness until they find one another and Sam pulls her close, runs her fingers through Emily’s hair and murmur comforting nonsense, into the night. If it’s not Sam, then it’s Ashley, and none of them are alone in their night terrors. They speaks words that don’t matter and know that it’s the reassuring presence of someone they trust that keeps their heart from beating out of their chest.

Ashley still see’s Chris’ head every time she closes her eyes, she smiles even when it’s difficult and she’s so much braver than Emily gave her credit for. Sam sees Wendigos in every shadow, even thousands of miles away, in the city, after all this time, monsters don’t just lurk in story books and that’s enough to leave her shaking. They’re all scared, they’ve got every right to be, but they continue, they _survive._ Together.

They don’t talk about what they _are_ . Emily says it’s because Sam makes the best goddamn pancakes she’s ever tasted and she doesn’t want to jeopardize that with something as trivial as _labels_ , but really, they don’t want to make it _weird_ . This, _whatever ‘_ this’ _is_ , works for them, between slow dancing in the kitchen while cooking breakfast, stealing lazy kisses in the back of movie theatres, and sharing hopes, dreams and aspirations in the wee hours of the morning, they’re a goddamn love story, and Emily’s never been so unapologetic about anything in her life.

Relearning how to be affectionate was one of the hardest things Emily’s ever done, how to let herself accept the love they offer her after all that’s happened and all she’s lost. For every soft word she murmurs to Sam and Ashley, her mind snaps at how Jess never had that opportunity, how she was never so gentle and kind with the first girl she had truly loved, even if she knows it's not true. It was slow going, but everything was a little like that after the mountain, after everything. Losing so much took it’s toll, that was clear to see, they had lost their families to their own stories, whispers and insults and speculation about their sanity. They had no choice but to turn to each other, and so Emily found support, found her own little family in Sam and Ashley, whom she loves more than anything, and the cat they keep leaving milk out for. There’s a silent understanding between them - _the girls_ \- unspoken but strong, especially on the nights they wake up screaming, a comforting thought in the uncaring world. Emily relishes the feeling, trying hard not to think about how it could grow teeth at any minute, catching on the memory almost a decade old, of stolen kisses and whispered secrets on moonlit nights.

Emily had decided early on that what she _could_ control _had_ to be perfect, a moment of clarity in the confusion of life, and perfect was how she would describe her moments with Jess. Forgotten nights and hazy summers held nothing but the feeling of Jess in her arms, smiling at her like she hung stars in the sky, sticky lipgloss shared with kisses and laughter like music set to the sound of the ocean; Emily had never felt so content. They had loved each other so fiercely that a star could pale in comparison to their beauty, but Emily had pushed her away, afraid of her own happiness, afraid that she would end up hurting Jess. _God_ , she felt sick at the thought, at the realisation that it was her fault… She had pushed Jess away and it had gotten her hurt, gotten her _killed_...

She loved Jess.

**Author's Note:**

> title comes from _'Magnetic'_ by _Annabel Jones_.


End file.
